


Funny Feeling (The Words You Say Remix)

by silkstocking



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2014-2015 NHL Season, Communication, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/pseuds/silkstocking
Summary: There's more to love than saying it out loud.





	Funny Feeling (The Words You Say Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinetikatrue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Make Me Act So Funny, Make Me Spend My Money](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9144865) by [kinetikatrue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue). 



Jeff leaned forward on the balcony rail, breathing in the salt air and letting the weak winter sun warm his face. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine he was back at the house in Sea Isle, killing beers and shooting the shit on the deck with Uppie and Lupes. It had all seemed so fucking simple back then: score goals, win games, get hardware. Party until he found a nice, blonde chick to settle down with, have two-point-five kids and a dog, and play out his career in Philly before retiring to his beach house to get fat and polish his cup rings. A whole fucking life mapped out, unfolding in front of him like goddamn Dorothy stepping out onto the yellow brick road. Easy. Simple. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. But Hermosa wasn’t Sea Isle, and one of the framed jerseys hanging on his wall next to the cup rings said Richards on the back. At one point there had even been one that said J. Richards, because Mike was a dick who thought he was funny.

The screen of Jeff’s phone, balanced on the rail next to him, was still lighting up with texts, but none of them were from Mike. He cleared the notifications away. Of the two of them, Jeff had always been the one to hole up when the bad shit happened, to ball up all his hurt inside him and lick his wounds in private. Mike was more of a guns-blazing kind of guy. Heart on his sleeve, Jeff’s mom always said. It had certainly been there when he’d stormed out earlier, after the front office had called to say Mike was on waivers. And if there was one lesson Jeff had learned over the years, it was that when Mike was pissed, he had to be left alone. He’d come home eventually.

Pocketing his phone, Jeff turned back inside the house. No sense wasting the rest of the day on stewing. He’d done enough of that lately, anyway. So far, January had been a string of disappointments, tough loss after tough loss, and even the long weekend couldn’t wipe out how bone-tired he felt. The weight of expectation sat heavy on all of their shoulders after the triumph of last summer, but it seemed to be crushing Mike. It sucked watching him struggle to get anything going on the ice, to hide how much he was hurting and how much of his old spark his injuries had cost him. Jeff had found himself thinking shit he shouldn’t a few times— _there but for the grace of_ —and he hated it. He got lucky; Mike didn’t. If ever anyone didn’t deserve to go through that, it was Mike. No wonder he was pissed.  
  
Jeff had fed the dog, finished up his PT exercises, and was considering the Netflix movie selection when he heard keys turn in the door. Shortly after, a packet of Jeff’s favorite caramel corn landed on his lap.

“What’s this?”

“What does it look like, genius?” Mike said. He flopped down on the couch next to Jeff and grabbed the remote, studiously avoiding meeting Jeff’s eyes.

“That’s my profile,” Jeff said mildly.

“I’m improving your suggestions. Don’t think I don’t know about your addiction to this shit,” Mike said, gesturing to the screen where Netflix was offering them a list of romantic dramas.

Jeff grabbed a handful of corn and made an attempt at subtly watching Mike. His hair looked wild and windswept and he smelled like cooling sweat. Running on the shore, then. Hopefully he had sweat out the worst of his anger.

After a few minutes, Jeff shifted so his thigh was pressed up against Mike’s. Mike brushed Jeff’s hand with his fingers. The quality of the silence seemed to change, becoming a little less charged and a little more companionable. Jeff took a deep breath and said, “If you wanted to see other people in Manchester or… or where-the-fuck-ever, I wouldn’t stop you.”

“What?” Mike said. He snatched his hand away and turned to gape at Jeff.

“I’m not saying I want you to!” Jeff said. “I’m just saying. I get it. I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Is that what you think I want? Carts—”

“I don’t know, okay? I just know that if I were you, I’d be pissed. At this whole situation. At me.”

“Pissed enough to fuck other people? What the fuck, Jeff? When have I ever given you the impression that I want that?”

“Mike—”

“Fuck this,” Mike said, throwing his hands up and pushing to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Jeff closed his eyes and let his head thunk against the back of the couch.

The shower was still running when he stepped into the bedroom, so he sat down on the bed to wait. After a couple of minutes, the water stopped, and Mike came out of the en-suite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His face did something complicated when he saw Jeff sitting there.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry,” Jeff said. The words caught in his throat but he forced them out. He and Mike, they were really fucking bad at saying that sometimes. Most of the time.

Mike rolled his shoulders and said nothing. The water drops still clinging to his collarbone seemed to glisten in the dim light from the lamp. He dropped the towel on the floor, the way Jeff knew he knew Jeff hated, and stepped over to the dresser. After pulling on clean shorts, he turned to Jeff and said, “Okay, but I don’t get why you even said it.”

Jeff sighed. “Richie. I said I was sorry.”

“You’re an asshole pretty fucking often, Carts, and I stick around. I don’t know why you think something out of your control would change shit.”

Jeff watched Mike putter around the room, digging out a fresh shirt and running a comb through his hair. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought that, whatever happened in the morning, Mike would be somewhere else tomorrow night.

“I just kept thinking—” Jeff started, stumbling over the words when Mike turned to look at him. “Fuck, I dunno. That I took your team. That it must be shitty to see me still in the show without you.”

“God, is that it?” Mike spat, striding across the room. “How the fuck could you think I’d stop loving you over this petty bullshit?”

Jeff stood up. “It’s your career, Mike, it’s not petty—”

“It’s petty, Carts! Yeah, it sucks but it doesn’t fucking matter. I can’t even remember a time when something didn’t suck for one or both of us. That’s just how things are.”

Mike broke off, breathing hard and looking like he’d just been double-shifted: face flushed and chest heaving, damp hair beginning to curl at his temples. Jeff felt something catch in his chest as he looked at him.

“It wasn’t all bad,” he said, more sulkily than he had intended.

“Jesus Christ, that’s what I’m saying,” Mike said. “None of it was bad, even the bits that sucked, because I always had you. You _fucking moron_.”

The last part was said with so much feeling that Jeff couldn’t help but laugh. Mike caught him and pulled him in, kissing the laughter off his face.

“You’re so dumb,” Mike said between kisses. “Dumb fucking blond who always needs everything spelled out—”

“I love you,” Jeff said suddenly, the words tumbling unbidden from his lips.

“I know!” Mike snapped, startling another laugh out of Jeff.

They stood there in silence for a little while, arms wrapped around each other. Jeff pressed his face to Mike’s neck and breathed deeply, trying to memorize the scent of soap on Mike’s skin.

“We’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “We’ve played apart before.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Mike said, and then, after a beat, “I hope you’re planning on putting out after being such a dick.”

“Like I don’t know you pick fights for the makeup sex,” Jeff said, pushing him down onto the bed, and then there was no more need to say anything.


End file.
